Forever And Always
by DearNickolas
Summary: Sam loves Kurt. Blaine loves Kurt. Kurt's going to live forever.
1. Chapter 1

_Because Kurt and Blaine deserve a love triangle and a vampire twist._

* * *

><p>The wind was probably cold.<p>

It probably nipped at the faces of the people around him, brushing against their exposed skin.

They probably had to clutch each other's fingers to keep their hands warm.

Of course, Kurt wouldn't know.

He couldn't feel the bitterness of the cold, the bite of the wind, the warmth of someone else's hand in his.

Kurt tugs his jacket closer to this lithe frame and wishes, with all of his unbeating heart, that he could.

"Uncle Kurt?"

There's a tug on his jacket. When he looks down, huge brown eyes are searching his face.

"What, sweetie?"

"Daddy told me to tell you to stop throwing yourself a pity party and get coffee."

Kurt takes his eyes from his nephew's face and finds Finn across the plaza, trying to hide a smile behind his hand. The countertenor scoffs and offers his nephew a long fingered hand, which he takes without hesitation.

As they make their way toward the tall man, Kurt drawls loudly, "Have I ever told you about that time when your daddy tripped over his enormous feet and fell on his face in the middle of the cafeteria?"

"You know, Kurt, I think you have told him that story. Too many times." Finn's mouth is curled upward into a grin that makes him look seventeen again; Kurt's dead heart suddenly aches. Finn scoops his son into his arms and gestures toward the Lima Bean. "Medium drip?"

"So is this how often I get to see you now? Every three months?" Finn's not looking at him; his eyes are locked onto his little boy, coloring in an incredibly unrealistic dolphin at the table beside them. His voice is low, knowing that his kid was an infamous eavesdropper, and every now and then he would lift his cup to his lips. Kurt knew he wasn't exactly a coffee fan.

"I've been busy."

"Yeah, so have I, Kurt. That doesn't mean you can't call me. Or drop me a text. You realize he started first grade last Monday? He kept talking about how he needed your approval for his 'first day outfit'." Finn searches his face for a moment. "I understand that your situation is…different now. I know you're scared of losing everyone."

Kurt shifts in his seat and looks down at his hands.

"But you can't give up on your family. Not yet, at least."

"I know." His eyes flash up, but Finn's not looking at him anymore. His eyes are on his son again, who has chosen to color the table cloth instead of his paper.

"It's been ten years, Kurt. Don't you think it's time to accept that you're not going to die?"

Kurt searches the lines of Finn's face. There were wrinkles at the edges of his eyes and around his mouth that Kurt had failed to notice. The thick gold band on his left hand catches light streaming through the wide windows. Kurt feels a tug in his chest, a burn in his eyes, and wonders how in the world he's going to spend eternity without his brother. He barely made it through high school _with _Finn.

"Sir, could you ask your child to stop staining our tablecloths please?"

"Caleb, color the dolphin please." Finn pushes the paper under his son's crayon. The boy doesn't seem to notice. "So…any word from Blaine?"

"As if."

"Sassy."

Kurt curls his long fingers around his coffee cup and sips at it. The taste lingers on his tongue; he swears his sense of taste had escalated. "For the rest of eternity, I will be sassier than Mercedes after a day without a Twinkie."

Finn barks a laugh.

"At least he has to good sense to stay away from me."

The taller man nods, his eyes locked on the window. There's silence between them, but it's not uncomfortable. When Finn looks back at Kurt, there's a question written on his face.

"What happened that night, Kurt?" Kurt glances toward the six year old next to them; he's scribbling pink polka dots into the dolphin's tail. Finn's eyes are sympathetic. "You came home covered in blood, crying hysterically. Remember? I had to shove you in the shower and burn your clothes. Next thing I knew, you were growing huge fangs and your eyes were red and I was scared shitless."

Kurt's mouth lifted into a fond smirk. "But you didn't leave."

"And I have the scars to prove it." He shakes back his sleeve and bares the four inch scar that traveled down from the joint of his arm. Kurt takes his hand and squeezes.

"I'll always be grateful for you, Finn. I'm not sure what I'd have done without you during those first few weeks."

Finn gives him the famous lopsided smile. "I know. But…what happened?"

"Daddy, I'm tired."

"Five more minutes, buddy."

"I'm tired, though."

Finn sighs and shoots Kurt the I'm-sorry-but-I-really-have-to-go-now look. Kurt squeezes his hand again, this time tighter, and stands up to place a soft kiss on the top of Caleb's head.

When they walk out of the coffee shop together, the first grader's hand held securely in his father's, Finn gives Kurt a one-armed hug and whispers in his ear, "Be good. Don't kill anyone. Call me."

And as Kurt watches them walk away, he has to ignore the tears welling up in his throat.

Because honestly, he'd already forgotten how to cry.

* * *

><p>"<em>I love you more than anything."<em>

"_More than anything in the whole world?"_

"_More than _anything_."_

"_Even Harry Potter?"_

"_Even more than Harry Potter."_

"_Disney songs?"_

"_Lame compared to you."_

"_I don't believe you."_

"_Kurt Hummel, you are everything I will ever want for the rest of my life."_

Kurt opens his eyes.

His ears prick.

In the bathroom on the opposite side of his loft, the water is running.

He knows who it is before he has the chance to wake up completely.

"Get out of my house."

He speaks to the ceiling; he knows that his visitor can hear him, even from three miles away.

There's a little whoosh of air, and there's someone leaning against his doorway.

"You should really get a human roommate so that we have to be invited in. Unwanted visitors are never good."

His voice is shocking; it rattles every bone in Kurt's cold body.

He props himself up on his elbows and glares as his eyes flash red.

There's only a towel wrapped around his waist, showing off a pair of defined sex lines, water slipping down his tan chest, his unruly curls hanging low on his forehead. The sexy smirk on his face makes Kurt want to punch his mouth.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Blaine?"

"I came to see you."

Kurt rolls over and closes his eyes. "Get out."

"Are you…sleeping?"

"Get out."

"You know that you don't _have _to sleep, right?"

"If you don't get out, I'm going to rip your head off."

There's a scoff and the sound of fabric hitting the floor; Kurt slits one open to see Blaine stalking, stark naked, across his bedroom floor and into his walk-in closet. He stifles a moan – because honestly, it had been awhile since he'd seen any beautiful man naked – and presses his forever-seventeen face into the feather down pillow.

A few moments later, the bed shifts; a pair of arms slide around him, holding him close.

And suddenly, Kurt feels the warmth from Blaine's skin. He knows he's not supposed to, he knows that Blaine is just as cold as him. But there's something about being held by his creator that makes the blood in his veins rush again.

Kurt melts into them.

And then he's shoving Blaine away from him and throwing himself out of bed.

"God, what's your problem, Kurt?"

"You did this to me!" He's jabbing a finger at the vampire curled comfortably in his bed. "You made me like this!"

Blaine rolls his eyes. "Oh, Kurt. It's been ten years. Can't you just get over it already?"

"You realize that I'm going to outlive my family? I'm going to have to watch all my friends die. I'm going to be alone. Forever."

"You don't have to be." Blaine's voice is quieter now; softer, less snarky. "Kurt, I changed you so that we could be together. I love—"

Kurt presses his hands to his temple and stomped toward the door. "Shut up."

"Where are you…?"

He doesn't answer; he just zooms toward the fridge and throws the door open (one of the hinges squeals horribly; Kurt sighs and makes a mental note to fix it in the morning). Using his toes, he pulls open the produce drawer and snatches an IV bag full of AB positive.

When he rips it open with his teeth and starts to drink, he hears a noise of disgust.

"Don't you want to heat it up or something?"

"Excuse me?" Kurt's tongue slips down to lick a drop from his chin. When he turns, Blaine's arms are crossed over his chest.

Blaine shrugs one shoulder. "I prefer it at 100.4."

"I'd prefer if you weren't in my favorite Gucci boxers and standing in my kitchen, but there you are. In my boxers. "

"I understand that you're mad - "

"What? I thought I was being subtle."

" - But you have to let it go."

Kurt dropped the empty bag onto the counter and moved forward, poking a finger hard into Blaine's chest.

"Listen, you selfish asshole. I don't care how much you love me. I don't care why you did it. All I know is that I'm going to have to be alone for the rest of eternity. You, Blaine Anderson, are dead to me."

Blaine's hazel eyes are intense, but sad. They're locked onto Kurt's forever young face, searching his features for something he obviously doesn't find.

He leans forward and presses a kiss to the flawless skin of Kurt's soft cheek.

His eyes flutter shut as Blaine's lips move to his ear.

"I will always love you."

When he opens his eyes, Blaine is gone.

* * *

><p>Sam lets himself into the apartment with the spare key.<p>

He drops the cooler onto the kitchen counter and throws his keys onto the table. It's silent in the loft, but he knows Kurt can hear him, so he grabs the mail from near his keys and starts rifling through it.

"Does the word 'privacy' mean anything to you?"

The sudden snippy voice makes him jump and drop the few envelopes; Kurt catches them before they hit the ground.

"I wish you would stop doing that." He manages through his surprise. Kurt snorts. "Seriously. I don't have supersonic hearing or whatever."

Kurt lifts a shoulder and pops open the cooler; eight bags of AB negative look back at him. Sam watches him lick his lips and then looks down at his hands. He knew he was one of the three people Kurt ever told about his…situation, but he was still uneasy around his old friend.

A cold hand presses into his arm. "Thank you, Sam."

He smiles and meets Kurt's pretty eyes. "I don't mind. You know that."

"Still."

The boy crosses the kitchen and shoves the blood into his produce drawer, offering Sam the empty cooler and a diet Pepsi when he was finished.

"You look tired."

"Blaine paid me a visit last night."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "How was that?"

"I told him to get out."

"Of course you did." Sam cracked open his soda and sipped, feeling the extra cold liquid smooth down his throat. Kurt watched him with a affectionate smile. "What did he want?"

Kurt lifts himself up onto the counter, smoothing his palms over his skinny jeans, and answers with a simple, "Nothing worth mentioning."

An eyebrow disappears into Sam's blonde bangs. "Well, if he comes back…You could always call me."

"Oh, yes, because your scrawny little human arms could do so much to an old vamp like Blaine." Kurt laughs, shaking his head. Sam rolls his eyes.

"I'm just saying it might deter him a little."

"It's not like he tries to kill me or anything."

"Still."

Kurt's smile is full of amusement. "Do I detect slight jealousy in your tone, Evans?"

His cheeks burned. "Of course not."

Kurt motions with one finger. Sam grudgingly moves around the table and stands in front of him. Kurt's fingers curl around his Led Zeppelin band tee and pull him impossibly close; the countertenor parts his legs so Sam is stand between them and pokes his nose lightly with the tip of his pointer finger.

"Really?"

Sam's heart flutters at the proximity. His hands, acting on their own accord, came up to rest on Kurt's thighs, reveling in how cool his skin was, even through his jeans. His eyes bore into Kurt's aqua marine ones and he realizes that he still has to answer.

"Really." He says finally, the words lacking sincerity. Kurt dips his head and Sam feels his tongue against his neck; against his pulse.

"I can hear your heart beating, Sam. It's going pretty fast, you know."

"I ran here."

Kurt laughs against his neck. "Good one."

Sam's hands leave his thighs and smooth over Kurt's jaw instead, pulling his head up. There's a second when they look at each other, when Sam's eyes flicker down to his full, red lips and he thinks they maybe have a chance.

But then he's not holding Kurt anymore.

Then, the countertenor is fifty feet away from him and holding the front door open, sweeping a hand toward the elevator.

His hands, holding air instead of Kurt's face, drop to his sides.

"See you next week, Sam." Kurt says softly when Sam ambles out the door, a lingering look resting on the vampire's beautiful face. When he goes to shut the door, though, Sam catches it with his foot. Kurt raises an eyebrow when he moves forward and places the most searing of kisses onto Kurt's lips, making the countertenor's toes curl in his pointy boots.

There's lightening and fireworks and for a second Kurt's heart almost feels like it's fluttering again.

And then Sam pulls away.

His lips hovering ever so slightly above Kurt's, he whispers, "See you next week, Kurt" and removes his foot, letting the door snap shut.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt rubs the tips of his fingers over his face, relishing in the warmth of the water as is slipped over his skin.

He swears that the shower is the only place that he felt entirely comfortable.

When he felt completely and totally alone, without distraction, without –

"Sam? Seriously, Kurt?"

Kurt had to grab the safety bar to keep from falling. "Jesus Christ!"

"He's human, you know." Blaine's shoulder blades were pressed against the glass of the shower, back turned to the naked Kurt still standing in the hot spray.

"Didn't I tell you to go away?"

Blaine tilts his head, just a little, to peek into the shower. Kurt turns away. "Did you? I guess I forgot."

"Well, let me remind you. Get. The. Fuck. Out."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"You need me."

"News flash, Blaine: I don't love you anymore."

"Really? Is that true?" He turns and presses his palms to the steamy glass, hazel eyes boring into the back of Kurt's soaked head. "Kurt, look me in the eyes and tell me that you don't love me."

Kurt presses his forehead into the tiled wall. It's cool against his skin.

His mouth stays firmly closed.

He hates himself for it.

The door of the shower slides open and a pair of lips press into the top of his spine.

"This isn't about love anyway, Kurt." He can feel Blaine's lips moving against his skin as he speaks. "This is about survival. You need me. I've given you time to come to terms with this. Now you figure out the rest of your time."

Kurt's elbow jabs backward; it hits Blaine hard in the ribs. There's a crack.

The short man doesn't even cry out. He just winces and backs away, taking careful steps out of the shower.

A towel is tossed onto Kurt's naked shoulder.

"You need to stop being so angry, Kurt. You need to at least listen to me. Your life might depend on it."

* * *

><p>When Kurt stalks into the kitchen, one hand raking through his hair and the other skillfully buttoning his skinny jeans, he stops short.<p>

Because Finn's standing, tall and dangerous, against the fridge, brown eyes locked ruthlessly onto Blaine's wary face.

"Finn." Kurt breathes, marine eyes widening between the two. "I didn't expect you today. Or any day, actually. How did you find my apartment?"

"I ran into Sam at the grocery store." Finn replies evenly, folding his arms across his impressive chest. Kurt wonders if he knew exactly how quickly Blaine could tear of his head off. "I thought you said this douche bag had the sense to leave you alone."

Blaine throws up his hands in exasperation. "You got Finn angry with me too?"

"Of course I'm mad at you, you huge prick! You killed my brother!"

"Only technically! He's still moving, isn't he?"

Finn starts forward, but Kurt's between them before the tall man even registers it, pushing him back with a force that Finn had no idea Kurt was capable of.

"Finn, now isn't a good time."

Finn let out a low rumble. "You have to be fucking _kidding _me."

"I need him." Kurt's voice drops to a whisper, even though Blaine would be able to hear him from across the city. Finn looks down and starts to shake his head. "No, Finn. I really need him."

"Fine." He stops struggling; Kurt removes his hands from the front of his chest. "But I'm not leaving."

Kurt decides that now would not be a good time to mention that Finn really wouldn't be able to help him at all when it came to Blaine, so he gives an agreeable nod. "Let's just…Let's sit down in the living room, okay?"

Kurt makes Finn go first; he shoves him toward the leather couch and forces him down onto a cushion. Blaine is ushered stiffly to the egg chair. Kurt takes a seat beside his brother, between the two men that were regarding each other with indignant, annoyed looks.

"What's this about, Blaine?"

The ex-Warbler looks down at his hands. "I owe you an apology. I understand that it might take years for you to forgive me…Maybe you never will. But I'm telling you now that I've never been sorrier about anything in my whole existence."

"Not accepted. Moving on."

"Have you talked to someone like us?"

Kurt's taken aback by the question; he cocks an eyebrow. "There are others?"

"Yeah. A lot." Blaine laughs lightly, shaking his head. "I knew you needed me."

"He _needed _you that night that you turned him, Anderson." Finn growls, shifting his weight around on the couch. "He _needed _you when he was puking blood and craving blood and screaming in pain. Do you understand that, you unforgivable bitch?"

Blaine looks down at his loafers. Kurt touches Finn's arm; he finds that his brother is shaking in rage. He takes Finn's hand and clasps it hard in both of his own.

"I know. But can you both tell me honestly that you would have even let me through the front door after that?"

They exchange a look that clearly states _no, probably not_ and Blaine nods his head knowingly.

"Kurt, I'm here to help you. To answer your questions – don't look at me like that, I know you've had some – and facilitate your future."

Kurt shakes his head and his eyes find the window. "You're here to redeem yourself."

"Yes." Blaine admits. "But I'm also here to _help _you, Kurt."

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Finn whispers lightly, throwing his scarf around his neck. Kurt smiles and offers the taller man his heavy winter jacket.

"I'll be fine, Finn. I'll call you, okay?"

"Okay." He reaches for the doorknob, hesitates, and then looks back, meeting Blaine's eyes. "If you hurt him, douche bag, I swear, I'll drive a fucking stake through your balls."

Blaine gives a type of cynical solute. "Noted."

"Bye, Finn."

When the door closes behind him, Kurt turns to the fridge.

"He hasn't changed at all." Blaine says sourly, leaning against the kitchen table.

"Only on the outside."

"Actually, he looks bigger on the outside." Kurt snorts and throws a bag of blood onto the counter. Blaine regards it with a wrinkled nose. "Don't you have a glass or something?"

"Don't you usually suck it out of a person's neck or something?"

"Touché."

Kurt gives a sarcastic bow that makes Blaine's full lips pull up into a smile. Grudgingly, though, he throws an arm into a cabinet and retrieves two shot glasses that Finn had purchased for him one Christmas. Blaine takes one with a soft thank you and carefully punctures the bag; Kurt rips it open with his teeth and pours messily.

When Blaine is silent, Kurt gives a little wave of his hand and says, "Go ahead, bestow your incredible wisdom on me, oh wise one."

"Not to pry or anything, but how long has it been since you've had sex?"

Kurt chokes on the blood pouring down his throat; he has to pound himself with the heel of his hand a few times before he can respond. "Excuse me?"

"Sex, Kurt. You know…" Blaine makes a few crude gyrating motions with his hips, "…that."

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

"We get irritable if we don't have sex, you know."

"So?"

"There's also snappy and unreasonable." He gestures to Kurt's hand, which had somehow found its way onto his hip, which was popped dramatically.

"Fine! I get it! I'm sassy." Kurt sighs, exasperated. Blaine's lips slip into a smug smile. "It's been awhile."

"_Naw, really?"_ Kurt shoots him a dirty look that the ex-Warbler returns with the shrug of one broad shoulder. "Anyway, fix that. I would offer to help, but I have a feeling that you'd rather walk through fire than come within five feet of me, so…"

There's a pang of guilt in Kurt's chest when he sees Blaine's down cast eyes; he takes another sip from his glass and clears his throat.

"I was never scared of you, you know." He says quietly. Blaine's hazel eyes flick back up to his face. "I went back to your house. After everything happened."

The silence is stifling. Blaine's bambi eyes are so intense that Kurt has to look away.

"But you weren't there."

"I had to leave." The reply comes before Kurt can even get the last sentence all the way out of his mouth. "I didn't…I honestly wasn't trying to ruin your life, Kurt. I wasn't trying to hurt you. I just _knew _that we were supposed to be together. Forever."

He laughs.

"Damn, that's so corny. But I really – "

There's a sharp knock on Kurt's front door that resonates through the entire apartment. Blaine furrows his brow, a question playing in his eyes, but Kurt doesn't have time answer it.

He also doesn't have time to answer his own door; the lock clicks and it's opening, slowly.

"Kurt, I know I'm back early, but I figured you wouldn't mind since you really don't have anyone else to…"

And there's Sam, arms laden with four bottles of wine and a bag of miscellaneous groceries, the cooler hanging off one obviously strained wrist.

There's Sam, eyebrows raised in confusion at the curly haired man that was standing in Kurt's kitchen, still sipping nonchalantly at his shot glass of human blood.

Kurt steps in front of Sam's line of vision and sighs. "This isn't a good time, Sam."

"Apparently not." He moves his head to the left, just a little, so he still has one eye locked carefully on the grinning vampire.

Kurt places one hand carefully on his bicep and starts to tell him to _please_, _come back later_ when Blaine raises his glass and says, "Invite him in, Kurtie. This will be the most exciting conversation I've had since I talked Wes out of those jeggings."

"I'm sorry, Blaine, I thought you were supposed to be rotting in hell or something. When did they let you out of there?" Sam pulls away from Kurt's grip and carefully sets his armfuls on the counter. Blaine grins.

"I made bail."

"And you decided to come here because…?"

"I came back for _Kurt,_ of course. What type of man wouldn't come back for his soul mate?"

"Blaine." Kurt's voice was sharp; on the counter, Sam's fingers curled into fists. "Stop. Sam, you really have to leave. I'm sorry, but this is important."

Sam looks down at him, taking in his panicked features, and realizes very slowly that Kurt was honestly concerned with his safety. He forgets, then, that Blaine is standing a mere ten feet away; he reaches up and brushes his fingers over Kurt's sharp jaw, pushing an askew hair from the countertenor's face.

There's a cough.

Kurt pulls away.

"You know what, Sam, I'll walk you to the door myself." Blaine drops his empty glass onto the counter. Kurt starts to protests, but Sam nods.

Being in close proximity to Blaine was like being in close proximity to a ticking bomb: Sam can feel the anger bubbling under the vampire's cool surface, and all the blonde really wants to do is run away.

He doesn't.

Instead, he grabs the front of Blaine's designer shirt, holds it tight, and has enough courage to murmur, "I can't stop you from hurting him, Anderson, but I swear I'll kill you if you do."

Blaine regards him with a thin smile and starts to peel away his fingers, one by one. "You know, I've lived for over three centuries. I've lived in every country you can name off the top of your head and I've seen all seven natural and unnatural Wonders of the World. I've seen love and hate and good and bad and the tiny gray areas that people overlook. I've been sickeningly rich and I've had everything I'd ever need at my disposal. I've seen things that you can only imagine, Sam, and I still love him more than anything in this entire world. Understand _that._"

* * *

><p><em>Thickening drama and action next chapter!<em>

_Leave me a review, I luh them. ;)_


	3. Chapter 3

As Sam throws back his fourth tequila shot, he starts to regret deciding to drink in the first place.

Because as he throws back his fourth tequila shot, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and someone slid down onto the stool beside him.

"Rough night, Evans?"

Sam peers through his alcohol goggles to find a pair of built arms, a sharp jaw, and something of a smile across a very familiar face. "Karofsky?"

"Who else?"

"Anyone else."

Karofsky rubs his forehead. "Wow, Evans, you know how to make a guy feel loved."

"M'sorry. Buy you a drink?"

"I think you've had enough." He pushes the shot glass away with one finger; Sam squints at him.

"You're not my daddy."

Karofsky snorts. "This may not be the best time, but I need to talk to you."

"About…alcohol?"

"Uh, no, Evans."

The blonde nods solemnly. "You want to talk about Kurt then."

"Perceptive, but not exactly. You know the guys with the sharp teeth, right, Evans?"

"Sharp teefers?"

"Yes."

"Then you _dooo_ want to talk about Kurt."

Sam doesn't notice when Karofsky takes a sharp breath. "No, not Kurt."

"You sure?"

"Yes, Sam. Can I get a coffee over here please?" The taller man grabs Sam by his sharp jaw and jerks his head upward. "Sam, I want to talk about you, okay?"

"I'm not in any state to be making business deals!"

"Your British accent is pretty good when you're drunk, you know."

"Cheerio, govena!"

"Oh, Jesus. Can I get that coffee to go, please?"

* * *

><p>As David finishes his hundredth push-up, he allows his muscles to relax.<p>

With his back against the hardwood floor, he can feel sweat pooling at his collarbone. His heart starts to slow and the opening chords of Fly With Me sound over his iPod dock.

He lets his mind stray to Kurt.

He can remember the boy like just yesterday had been graduation; he's haunted constantly by a flashbulb memory of the distinct color of his eyes.

Haunted, David digresses, isn't exactly the right word.

He keeps those random flashbulb memories hidden inside his chest for when he needed them most.

For when he needed strength.

David arches his neck, just a little, to peer at the wall above his head.

The stake gun leers back at him.

* * *

><p>Sam cradles his head.<p>

He swears it's going to explode.

The sound of a gunshot makes him groan.

"Evans, I really have to talk to you." The rough voice rings a little bell in the back of his mind.

"Can't it fucking wait?"

Someone grabs him under the armpits and drags him into a sitting position. Sam momentarily feels his ass leave the couch and he's impressed by the amount of brute strength.

"Not really." A mug is shoved into his hands; Sam peers into the black liquid before bringing it to his lips. A few sips later, he glances around the room and finds Karofsky perched on the arm of the puffy leather couch that Sam was currently half-sitting on.

There are a few minutes of silence while Sam finishes his coffee. The blonde can barely believe that Karofsky is sitting near him. The David Karofsky he knew was brutish, rude, and loud, with a little bit of chub around the middle and a distinct habit of never taking off his letterman jacket. The man sitting in front of him is tall, broad shouldered, and quiet; the letterman jacket is nowhere in sight. Instead, there's a gray tee shirt pulled over a hard chest and set of abs that could probably give Sam's a run for their money.

"You look different. You kind of stripped off the douche bag aura." Sam offers, his voice dripping bitterness.

"That's the understatement of the century, but this isn't about me." Karofsky shoots back, folding his thick arms.

"Let me guess: you want Kurt."

Karofsky's mouth twitches into a smile. "Never play poker."

Sam sets his mug onto the coffee table near his feet and raises an eyebrow. "So this isn't about him, then?"

"Do you know what this is?" He's holding out a contraption that looks like a mixture between a small cross-bow and a thick metal bracelet that would probably cover the whole of his forearm. Sam shakes his head. With one swift movement of his wrist, Karofsky throws it onto his hand and points; a thick wooden rod shoots into the wall next to Sam's head.

Craning his neck and reaching up, Sam pulls a three inch stake out of the plaster. He looks at it for a moment, registering what it is, and then promptly drops it onto the floor with a clatter. He's onto his feet in seconds, but Karofsky has him by both arms before he can even take a step.

"Get the fuck off me, you little c-"

"Evans, I can't let you go now. Come on, use your brain." Karofsky's voice is smooth, calm. Sam knows he could probably throw the man's arms off him and make a mad dash for the door, but Karofsky adds, "I'm not going to hurt Kurt, if that's what you're thinking. I'm more interested in Anderson."

Sam eyes him suspiciously. "Blaine?"

"I heard he's back."

"I feel it would be best not to confirm or deny that."

Karofsky cracks a smile and releases the blonde; Sam has a momentary internal conflict before his hatred for Blaine's sickeningly handsome face forces him to sit back down. "Listen, Sam. There are people in this world that want all the bloodsuckers dead, and then there are people like me. People who only want to put the bad ones down permanently. "

"That's just a nicer way to say dead, Karofsky."

The tall man wrinkles his nose suddenly. "No one's called me that since high school, you know. Dave is…better for me now."

"Fine."

"Anyway, I need a partner. Someone who can watch my back, because honestly, if I want to take down the bad ones, I'm going to need help."

Sam rakes a hand through his hair. "And that's where I come in?"

"Hopefully."

"You understand that I'm in love with a vampire, right?"

"Yeah." Dave looks down at his converse. "But Kurt's not exactly a bad one, is he?"

* * *

><p>Kurt swears that Nicholas Sparks wrote <em>the Notebook<em> just to make him cry.

Because honestly, he just can't stop whenever something even remotely sad or beautiful or sappy happens on screen.

He sniffs loudly and cuddles into his down comforter, rubbing haphazardly at his eyes.

"Oh, God, Kurt, how do you watch this shit?" Across the couch, Blaine's trying very hard to keep the fact that tears are too leaking from his hazel eyes.

Kurt's sniffing turns indignant. "You don't _have _to watch it, Blaine!"

"Good, because I'm going out."

Kurt tears his eyes away from the television to watch Blaine stretch his rolling muscles and slip his wallet into the back pocket of his tight, black jeans. "It's a Wednesday night."

"Don't you know? Wednesday is Fright Night." Blaine shoots a crooked smile and a wink over his shoulder; Kurt responds with a sour huff of breath. "Kurt, listen: you seriously need to let loose a little."

He walks – although _saunters_ would probably be the better word, Kurt thinks bitterly – toward the younger boy and places both hands on the back of the couch, successfully blocking Kurt from escape with his arms. When Kurt looks up at him, his smile is anything but suave; it's soft and small. He can feel the warmth of Blaine's low breathing brush over his lips. The hazel tenderness in his eyes is mesmerizing.

"Do you remember when we used to go to Breadsticks?" Kurt doesn't dare to breathe. "You were always my favorite person to talk to, about anything."

Something in Blaine's tone is yearning, but there's also a little bit of resentment. Kurt's eyes flicker back to the television; Blaine lifts his arms away and walks toward the door.

"Now we don't talk at all."

When Kurt looks toward the door and opens his mouth to say something,_ anything_, Blaine is gone.

* * *

><p>Blaine checks his phone for the eighth time.<p>

He doesn't have any texts or missed calls, but he was _positively sure _that Kurt would eventually break and come find him.

Right?

He sighs. He doesn't understand how he could have made such a huge mess out of everything; he'd had it all planned out so perfectly. He'd been thorough and practical.

But somehow everything was turned upside down.

As it often did with Kurt, Blaine reminds himself silently, picking up his wine glass and swirling the liquid around listlessly.

He honestly winces every time Finn's harsh gaze landed on him. He wants to remind the Frankenteen that they'd once been brothers, once stayed up all night quietly discussing all of Kurt's weird quirks as the countertenor slept, oblivious, in Blaine's lap.

They used to be a family, and now neither of them could look at him.

He rubs at his forehead, trying to pressure away the headache that was threatening to surface, and tries to ignore the dull throb of pain in his chest.

"Would you like another, sir?" Blaine glances up and, after a moment of consideration, shakes his head. But then –

"Actually, he would."

Blaine swivels on his stool and catches the smiling glint of marine eyes.

He swears his heart skipped to life just then.

"You came."

"I didn't want to sit through the ending of the_ Notebook _by myself_. _But if they keep playing this Usher song, I might have to leave."

Blaine perks his ears (he'd been blocking out all the music). "What are you talking about? This song is the best."

Kurt slips onto the stool beside him and rests his chin in his hand. The barman slides a glass of white wine in front of Blaine; the shorter man pushes it towards Kurt with one finger.

"Can I even drink this?" He asks quietly, sniffing idly at the contents. Blaine's mouth quirks upward into a smile.

"Yeah. It takes away the hunger for awhile, too. I know it's clawing at the back of your throat every minute of every day."

Kurt tips the glass between his lips and lets out a happy sigh as he swallows. "I've been looking for something to dull that forever."

Blaine's smile widens when the music changes to something slower, more familiar. The couples on the dance floor shoot annoyed looks at the DJ and shuffle toward the bar. Kurt catches the look on Blaine's face and shakes his head violently.

"No, Blaine Anderson. Absolutely not, we are _not _dancing to –"

But Blaine has him by the hand and he's dragging him onto the dance floor. There's a moment when they look at each other awkwardly, unsure, and then Blaine's pulling him close, looping his sturdy arms around Kurt's thin waist and holding on tight. Kurt's heightened senses are attacked with things he'd forgotten about Blaine; the way he smells like a mixture of hazelnut coffee and Old Spice, the way his mouth falls next to Kurt's ear when they're close, the way his chest feels solid against the countertenor's, the way he ever so gently glides along, pulling Kurt with him.

"_You are far. _

_When I could have been your star, _

_you listened to people who scared to death _

_and drove you from my heart." _

Blaine's voice, always Kurt's vice, is barely a whisper; it brushes over Kurt's skin and makes a shiver travel slowly down his spine. His fingers curl around the edges of Blaine's shoulders, his head titled into the shorter man's.

"_You are far__._

_ I'm never gonna be your star._

_I'll pick up the pieces__ and mend my heart_."

Blaine tightens his arms, pulling Kurt flush against him, and pauses his singing to press his lips into the soft skin just below Kurt's ear. He can feel every curve of the countertenor against him, hear his labored breathing, feel the boy's chest rise and fall. He closes his eyes and breathes him in.

_"Strange that I was wrong enough_

_ To think you'd love me too _

_ I guess you were kissing a fool_

_ You must have been kissing a fool."_

When the music stops, Blaine hears a distinct clapping noise. He opens his eyes and finds the DJ giving them an enthused round of applause. He was probably just pleased that not everyone was angry with him for playing something other techno. Kurt laughs; it vibrates between them and makes Blaine smile.

Almost apologetically, the DJ clicks something on his computer and an industrial beat consumes the floor once again.

Kurt lets his arms fall away to his sides and turns to head back toward the bar, but Blaine catches him by the hand and whips him back around.

They stare at each other, both looking for something under the surface.

Somehow, they find it, and Blaine's crashing his lips into Kurt's, wanting to taste him again, _needing _to taste me again and Kurt's gasping into his mouth, their hips rolling together and then –

Blaine feels blinding pain cut a path from his spine all the way through to his belly button.

He looks down and finds a stake protruding from his button-down.

Kurt's eyes are bigger than saucers.

He tries to turn, but his body is shutting down.

He loses his footing and falls to the floor.

Kurt's fingers are cold at his face, then his shoulders, shaking him.

He can't hear anything.

Then, everything is black.

* * *

><p>Kurt feels someone grab him by the armpits and pull him away from Blaine's seemingly boneless body; he screams and kicks, but the music is too loud.<p>

There's another man kneeling beside Blaine.

He has blonde hair.

Kurt loses the breath in his chest.

Something hard crashes into his skull.

There's only blackness, and a flashbulb image of Sam driving the stake deeper in Blaine's body.

* * *

><p><em>...oops.<em>

_Review! I adore them._

_Also, the song is Kissing a Fool by Michael Buble. _


	4. Chapter 4

Kurt blinks twice.

The ceiling above him is distinctly familiar.

He turns his head and meets a sharp pair of green eyes.

He tries to lash out with one hand, to seize the person by their throat, but his arms stay glued to his sides and sharp pain sparks up his spine.

He screams.

"Kurt." The voice is shaky. "Kurt, don't move, okay? It'll just hurt more."

His eyelashes flutter; he suddenly feels incredibly weak. There's a dull throb in the back of his throat, and he feels something warm and sticky draining from his wrist. He opens his eyes. "Sam."

"Y-yes?" He sounds surprised and feeble at the same time; Kurt peers through the haze just long enough to find his terrified face.

"I need a drink."

"I'll get you some water."

"Not water."

There's a moment of silence, and then - "I...I can't."

Kurt rests his cheek against the soft carpet and bends his head down to glance at his wrist.

Slit, and not healing.

"What did he put on it?"

Sam rolls his knuckles in his palm and glances around the room, anywhere but at Kurt.

"Sam, what did he put on it?"

"It's only for a little while, Kurt, I promise. Just until Blaine is –"

Kurt musters the rest of his energy and screams bloody murder; just like that, Sam is next to him, touching his face, promising him that _it's really going to be okay, Kurt, I'm so sorry_, and his wrist is hovering ever so closely to Kurt's lips.

He doesn't even consider it; he just knows he _has to_. His head rears up with the quickness of something supernatural and his teeth sink into Sam's skin.

He's surprised when the blonde doesn't cry out in pain. Instead, he lets out an almost erotic type of moan. He doesn't spend time trying to find the source of Sam's obvious pleasure. He just closes his eyes and sucks.

The taste of the warmth flowing into his mouth is toe-curling. He feels his strength returning, his wrist sowing itself back together. When he can no longer feel the dull pain in the base of his spine, he retracts his teeth and licks spare droplets from Sam's smooth skin.

The man's chest is heaving, his eyes wide and pupils blown. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but he can't seem to find the correct words.

And then promptly faints, his head hitting the floor with a loud thunk.

Reaching up to his neck, Kurt grasps the base of something cylindrical and wooden, and pulls it out in one swift, painful movement. There's a harsh squelching noise that makes him wince; when he looks down, he's holding a three each stake covered in his own blood.

He waits a few seconds, feeling his skin knit itself back together, and then stands.

He's unsteady; he didn't take much from Sam and it makes his head swim.

He grasps at a random doorknob and pulls it open. The long hallway on the other side looks so familiar that his senses are swept with such strong déjà vu that he has to lean against the tastefully painted wall. There was something so proverbial about the house that made him shaky.

He doesn't have time to search the vast ocean of his memories because, very suddenly, there are footsteps on the stairs to the right of him. They're frantic and fast; the person seems to be taking two or three steps at a time.

Kurt looks to his left and finds another doorknob staring at him. He has just enough time to ease himself through it and close it quietly before the person barrels past.

He presses his ear to the rough wood and listens.

"Where did he go? Sam? Sam, wake up."

Kurt pulls his ear away. He knows that voice. It rings in his head, memories colliding with each other inside his brain.

His fingers reach for the doorknob, to pull it open and peer into the hallway, but a hand clasps hard over his mouth, dragging him down onto the floor and away from the door. When he twists around, he finds a very white-faced Blaine shaking his head, holding a finger to his lips.

Kurt would be lying if he said his heart didn't leap into his throat at the sight of the older vampire. He would be lying if he said he didn't cradle Blaine's paling face in his hands, if he said he didn't pepper every inch of Blaine that was reachable with light kisses.

_Because he wasn't dead._

"Kurt."

His eyes flicker down to the movement of Blaine's lips. "Yes?"

"I need you to pull the stake out."

"What st-?" But he glances down and finds Blaine's shirt tented, just a little, above his belly button. He touches the point delicately with the tip of his finger. Blaine groans. "What…What do I do?"

"The base is…stuck in my…It's in my back. Just grab it and...just pull."

Kurt's fingers are shaking when he reaches around Blaine to grasp the wooden base. There's a hiss of pain; Blaine buries his head in the nape of Kurt's neck and breathes him in.

Like he was breathing in strength.

Kurt closes his eyes and, with a soft gulp of air, pulls hard.

There's an awful squelching noise that nearly makes Kurt puke. Blaine screams, but silently, because he has his mouth buried into the collar of Kurt's shirt.

The stake falls to the floor with a clatter.

And suddenly, there are two sets of footsteps, heavy, coming in their obvious direction.

Kurt realizes with a screeching jolt he's not nearly strong enough to take on two men alone.

Blaine could barely take one in his condition, which was currently worsening as he became limp in Kurt's arms.

So Kurt cradles him closer and waits for the door to burst open.

Seconds later, it does.

"Hummel! What did you do?"

"David Karofsky?" The disbelief in his voice is so evident that it even surprises himself.

The drastically changed man dips down and picks up the stake. "You pulled it out?"

Sam limps forward suddenly, teetering slightly, and spits sourly, "Of course he did. Apparently they're soul mates."

Kurt ignores him. "Why are you trying to _kill Blaine_?"

"I don't expect you to understand, Kurt, because you're blinded by whatever relationship you have with him. But Blaine's not a good person. He's not even a person. Whatever. He needs to be put down." David sighs, his eyes locked on the crumpled form of the old vampire in Kurt's arms. "And it needs to be done soon, before he w-"

But there's a whoosh of wind and Kurt's arms are empty.

The stake that had been in David's hand was logged deeply into his side.

There was a crack of bone and Sam fell to the floor, lifeless.

Kurt screamed.

Then someone was scooping him up, holding him close to their chest, and they were far, far from that room. Far from the house, far from anything.

* * *

><p>Kurt rips himself away from Blaine's arms.<p>

The younger vampire stumbles and catches a tree to steady himself.

_A tree_.

"Oh, Jesus."

There's a snicker. "I know how much you love nature."

Kurt whirls around and meets a glowing pair of hazel eyes. "You killed Sam."

The laughter dies immediately. "Kurt—"

"You _killed _my friend, Blaine."

"Kurt, listen to—"

"And I suppose David will be dead by morning, right?" He knows that the anger is flashing across his face by now; Blaine warily sets himself down on the forest floor and waits for the burst of fury. "Who are you, Blaine Anderson, to take lives? To walk into my life and destroy every relationship that I've created since you've been gone? You do understand that they both have family? Friends? Someone is going to have to explain to their poor families that -"

"Kurt, I didn't kill Sam or David."

Kurt's fists tighten. "What?"

"I purposefully aimed to miss every vital organ in David. He'll be fine. As for Sam, I only cracked his collar bone. Unfortunately, it's the most painful injury that can ever be inflicted, so he was paralyzed. I had to get us out of there, Kurt." The smile returns, small, on Blaine's face. "But he deserved that more for trying to steal you away from me."

Kurt stares at Blaine for a second, his jaw somewhere near his knees. Then, with a stubborn expression etched into his pretty features, plops down on the earth. "Fine. What do we do now?"

"We wait."

* * *

><p><em>...whoopsie.<em>

_Wait for what? __Is Sam really okay? WTF BLAINE._

_Questions?_

_Tumblr = livinguninterrupted . tumblr . com_

_without the spaces._

_Review! I adore them._


	5. Chapter 5

Dave rolls onto his side.

Namely, not the side that currently had a large wooden stake protruding from his skin.

Taking a deep breath, he starts to pull himself towards the door by his elbows.

His conscious brain seemed to have totally turned off; he has no idea where he's going, or even why he started moving in the first place.

The pain is blinding.

When he finds himself in the study, where Sam had been previously watching over an unconscious Kurt, he stops dragging his limp body long enough to question his motives.

Then the sun catches on a pool of liquid on the floor.

Kurt's blood.

_ "…and more importantly, David, it's healing. So if you ever find yourself in a bad position and you're bleeding out or one of your legs are broken or something, remember that."_

Dave rubs his lips together, summons courage, and reaches down to pull the stake out of his side in one harsh movement.

He yells, but it's fleeting; he presses his lips to the floor and drinks.

He expects it to taste like iron, but it's sweet and smooth and Dave realizes that it tastes like he imagines Kurt would taste.

It slips down his throat until he can't feel the pain anymore.

When he's able to sit up, he lifts his shirt and examines the bruise on his skin.

Just a bruise.

He rubs tiredly at his forehead, wiping away drops of sweat, and then remembers.

_Sam._

He trips ungracefully back to the bedroom, trying to find his footing again, and knelt carefully beside the blonde.

"Sam. Sammy. Hey, Evans."

Nothing, not even a groan.

Dave pulls the v of Sam's tee shirt down, eyes avoiding the expanse of muscle and skin, and presses his ear to the blonde's left pectoral. No heartbeat.

Dave can't help the whine of despair from echoing in his throat. "Come on, Sam. "

He presses two fingers under Sam's strong jaw, searching desperately for a pulse.

After a few minutes, he sits back on his heels.

No pulse.

* * *

><p>"I hate trees."<p>

"I know."

"I hate wind."

"I know."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

Kurt stops throwing twigs at the ground long enough to shoot Blaine a sour look that he returns with a soft, teasing smile.

"Can we go?"

"No."

"What are we waiting for?"

Blaine smoothes a hand over his face, feeling the stubble starting to come in on his forever young face. The smile is gone, replaced with a grimace and Kurt inspects curiously. "We're just waiting, okay, Kurt?"

His hazel eyes were less bright than usually, Kurt notices, and his patience was short.

"You're hungry, aren't you?"

"No!"

"Just a question, how often do you eat? Like, real blood? You know, the warm kind?"

Blaine's scowl deepens. "You ask the question like you're asking, 'hey, babe, how often do you murder people?'"

"Well, technically – "

"I don't _kill_ people, Kurt."

"You've never killed anyone?"

"I mean, I have accidently, once or twice, but I just –"

"So, let me ask again. How often do you eat?"

"You're so judgmental."

"What?"

"I can see it, in your eyes. Just like…piercing judgment in them."

"Piercing?"

"Yes, piercing."

"Really."

"Yes!"

"Well, I'm sorry, Blaine, but you're not exactly the easiest person to figure out."

"So, you've resolved to judging me?"

"No, I've resolved to find out everything I can about you, and that includes your murder schedule."

"_Oh my god, _I don't kill p—"

"Looks like nothing's changed."

The voice is drawling and amused; Kurt and Blaine tear their eyes away from each other to focus on the new presence neither of them had noticed over the sound of their yelling.

She's leaning against a tree, high ponytail still intact, with a hard smirk on her face. The evil glint in her black eyes hadn't disappeared; it seemed to have grown more prominent since Kurt had last seen her.

"Santana?"

"Hey, Babyface."

* * *

><p>Dave makes a decision and slips his hands under Sam's armpits.<p>

It doesn't take very long to pull him down the hallway, but the second Dave drops him gently next to the pool of blood, his brain starts to go into overdrive.

Because what if Sam doesn't want this? What if he'd rather be dead? What if he hated Dave the second he woke up? What if he decided that Dave was to blame?

He buries his eyes in his hands, breathing in the smell of Kurt's blood still on his skin.

And, for the second time in three minutes, makes a decision.

He rips a section of jersey from the bottom of Sam's tee shirt and balls it up in his hand, holding it tightly in his fist.

He takes a deep breath, considering once again the consequences, and dips the cloth carefully in the blood near his knees.

Not giving himself enough time to brood over it anymore, he holds the jersey inches from Sam's lips and watches the red liquid drop slowly between them, watches them slide over his tongue and disappear down his throat.

Once he was sure enough had slipped through Sam's lips, he sits back on his heels and waits.

* * *

><p>"What are you doing here?"<p>

"I've come to save your ass, porcelain. Unless you'd rather sit out in the wilderness for the rest of eternity."

It was Kurt's turn to scowl; he crosses his arms over his chest and looks pointedly at the still livid Blaine, who decides now would be a good time to ignore the other vampire completely.

"Thank you, Santana." He says, his voice mirroring the tiredness etched in his features. She nods curtly, one eyebrow quirking up as Kurt rounds on her again.

"Would anyone care to explain what's happening?"

"I'm glad you held onto that bitchiness, Hummel, it becomes you." Her lips curve upward and she crosses the space between them to fold him in a tight hug that he returns after a moment of stunned surprise. They were never really friends, he guesses, but the familiar face is comforting enough to make him glad to see her.

When she pulls away, she takes his hand tightly in hers and tugs him forward. "Come on; let's get Blainey Bear a drink before he decides to rip off both our heads."

* * *

><p>Sam coughs.<p>

Dave jerks upright from his spot on the couch a few feet away and literally throws himself down beside the blonde.

"Sam?"

He coughs again.

"Evans?"

"My body feels like it's on fire."

His voice shocks Dave; it's clear and smooth and yet he hadn't spoken over a whisper. His skin had lost the natural rosiness of someone alive; Dave clears his throat and pretends not to be afraid.

"Other than that, are you okay?"

"I'm so hungry."

"You're—" Dave swallows thickly as the boy cuts off his sentence with another hacking cough. He feels himself start to back away, ever so slowly. "Sam, I don't want you to be scared, but you're dead."

"I know."

The hairs on Dave's arms stand up. "You do?"

"My heart isn't beating. I feel cold. I'm hungry. You should leave."

"I'm going to. Soon."

"No." Sam's voice is stronger now. His fingers, previously limp, curl into his palm. "You need to leave now."

"Okay."

He picks himself off the floor and steps over Sam's lifeless body just as the boy coughs again. This time, though, he coughs up blood.

Dave forces himself to move quicker, to step outside the living room and shut the door tightly behind him.

He forces himself to sit in front of it, using his weight the hold it closed, even when screams of pain and need and hunger echo through the thick wood.

Even when they die down and he can hear violent retching and sobbing.

Even when Sam's voice, soft, begs him for something to eat.

Even when there's silence.

* * *

><p>They only walk a for a few minutes, with Santana pulling Kurt along and Blaine following like a little lost puppy, when the feisty girl leads them into a huge clearing.<p>

There's a house sitting in the center of a wheat field, too big to be inconspicuous. Kurt stares at it for a little too long; Santana gives his hand a strong tug that makes him lose his footing.

They enter through the ivy stricken back door, and she immediately leads them toward a flight of stairs that eventually brings them to a warm room with several couches and tables strewn across it. There's a fire too, but Kurt regards it with yearning; he knows he won't be able to feel it.

Blaine immediately crosses the floor and picks up a glass of thick liquid that Santana must have been sipping on before; he quickly takes a few gulps and sighs happily.

"Feel better?" Santana asks a few minutes later, smugness coloring her words. Blaine shoots her a dirty look, but nods anyway, bringing the cup to his lips again. "You're like a five year old."

"A murderous five year old." Kurt murmurs from his spot on the ground, just loud enough for Blaine to hear him. The older vampire sighs and rests against the puffy back cushion of Santana's over-stuffed leather couch, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

Santana lifts an eyebrow. "What's this about being murderous?"

"Kurt," Blaine starts loftily, waving a hand at the ceiling, "has it in his head that I like to kill innocent people."

Kurt tucks his feet further beneath him and leans closer to the fire, thinking that he could maybe feel it a little, warming his skin. Stretched out in an armchair beside him, Santana's quirked eyebrow drops back down to its usual arched position. "Hummel, how long have you known Blaine?"

"Three years."

"That's a lie!" Blaine says immediately, indignant. "You've known me for thirteen!"

"I wasn't counting the years that I never saw you." Kurt shoots back acidly.

"Trust me, the only reason I never saw you was because it was necessary. And would you have even let me if I came knocking on your door? No, Kurt, you wouldn't have."

Santana huffs a loud breath. "As entertaining as it is to watch gays fight when all they both really want to do is have mad bunny sex on a Persian carpet, there was a point to my question."

Kurt and Blaine stare at her in stunned embarrassment, both blushing wildly at her words.

"Listen, Kurt, even if you'd only known Mr. Dapper over here for two years, you'd still be able to tell that he'd never hurt anyone on purpose, or unless it was crucial. He's strong, sure, but he's also a sap and a wuss. So drop the murder thing, because he has the self control of a sixty-year-old president. Can we please move onto more important things, now?"

Blaine's the first one to recover; he nods and sips again at his drink. Kurt removes his eyes from Santana's feisty expression and suddenly finds his thumbnail tremendously fascinating.

"What happened?"

"Dave Karofsky." Blaine offers helpfully, his voice growling a little as the name falls off his lips. Santana crosses her legs and tilts her head interestedly. "He's decided that he wants me dead."

"And this has nothing to do with babyface?" She uses her toe to poke Kurt in the side of his head; the countertenor wrinkles his nose and moves a little to the left.

Blaine can merely shrug. "I can't be sure of his motives. All I know is that I woke up with a stake through my stomach and Dave was wielding an axe over my head."

"So he's trained."

"And he thought it would be a good idea to train Sam Evans."

Santana's eyebrows shoot up her forehead. "Trouty Mouth's still around?"

Blaine's features darken. "And he's in love with Kurt."

"Is he, now?" Santana grins when a blush crawls up Kurt's neck. "Interesting."

Kurt sits back on his heels. "What about you, Santana? Where do you come into play in all this?"

For the first time that evening, Santana looks uncomfortable. She smoothes her red skirt and glances in Blaine's direction; he offers only a shrug and a look that clearly states, "_Why keep it from him?" _

"I, Hummel, am where Blaine ran to like a coward after graduation." She ignores Blaine's dirty look and uncrosses her legs, obviously getting comfortable. "You're the only one that fell in love with a vampire and made the unfortunate mistake to promise him – or her, in my case – forever."

"Brittany?" His voice is disbelieving; Santana makes a face.

"What? No! It was just some chick I met at a queer bar. So I moved into this huge house and sat here for a few years after we all graduated. That's when Blaine showed up, shaking like a little pussy and sobbing his eyes out because little Kurty didn't love him anymore." She stares into the fire with a tiny smile on her face that makes Kurt wonder if she really did have a heart under all that rough exterior. "Anyway, he stayed with me. Stays with me. He hasn't really left, except he went to find you a few days ago."

Kurt looks from her to Blaine, who met his gaze with a brutally honest expression, as though he had opened his chest and his heart was laying out on display for Kurt to critique.

Kurt looks away.

"So why did you have to come get us? Shouldn't Blaine have been able to find his way?"

Santana presses her lips together and slowly shakes her head, high pony swinging around her face. "No one's able to find this house except me. I don't know why. Before I moved in, the man who lived here died upstairs of old age. He might have something to do with it, but I honestly don't know."

"That's why I was hesitant to leave." Blaine adds quietly. Kurt still can't bring himself to look in the boy's direction.

Santana notices, but she seems to decide not to comment on it; instead, she stands and stretches, yawning quietly behind her hand. "Alright, well, I'm going back to bed. There's at least six other bedrooms in this place; feel free to pick whichever suits you, Hummel. I know you're picky. Feel free to use the shower, whatever. Just don't wake me up again, got it?"

She slips out, leaving them alone with the crackling fire.

There's a long silence while Kurt's eyes are mesmerized by the flames, the wheels in his mind turning at a faster speed than they had in a long time.

His thoughts flew from Finn, to his nephew, to Sam, to Dave, to Blaine.

Blaine.

He sneaks a glance at the older vampire and finds him, chin in hand, eyes locked on Kurt's face.

"I'm sorry I called you a murderer." Kurt says softly. Blaine smiles.

"I'm sorry I gave you any reason to think I was."

Kurt stands and stretches his body, not missing when Blaine's eyes coast over his body. He runs a few fingers through his perfect hair and takes a few steps closer to that curly mop of hair.

Leaning down so he could breathe in the hazelnut coffee and axe mixture that could only be described as _Blaine, Blaine, Blaine_, he presses the softest of kisses into Blaine's cheek, feeling the stubble there.

He feels Blaine take a deep breath, feels him lean into Kurt's lips, feels him reach up and smooth over Kurt's jaw line with light fingers for a fleeting moment.

And then…

"Goodnight, Kurt."

"Goodnight, Blaine."

* * *

><p>Dave uses his thumb to press down on the plastic, making a small drop of blood ooze from the IV bag.<p>

He doesn't dare open the door, so he squeezes out just enough blood to make it fit through the crack in the bottom and slides it through.

He hears a growl of appreciation and various sucking and smacking noises from the opposite side.

"Sam?" He ventures quietly, hand resting carefully on the doorknob. There's only silence. "Evans?"

From the other side, Sam clears his throat. "I wouldn't come in here."

Dave removes his hand. "Okay."

"Can I have more?"

"More?"

"_More blood."_

* * *

><p>Kurt wakes up when the door of his bedroom swings open quietly and the pad of bare feet sound on the wooden floor.<p>

He stays still.

Someone pushes back the covers and slips into bed beside him.

Someone wraps their arms around him and holds him tight.

Someone kisses the skin under his ear and murmurs something like _I'm so sorry, I love you. _

Kurt can only melt.

He finds himself hoping, as he falls back asleep, that Blaine would be there when he woke up.

* * *

><p><em>Whew. That was a monster chapter. It took me foreverrrrr.<em>

**_REVIEW!_**

_Questions?_

_Seriously, review! They're so helpful._


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